


Irish Winter

by Olorisstra



Series: New York Limerence [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alex is either unlucky or stupid (depending on who you ask), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olorisstra/pseuds/Olorisstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fucking Irish winter!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irish Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Fic by Shraen (who is waiting for her invitation to come in), I am just the translator.

He was wearing thigh high black boots, as was his custom, sinking in two feet of vicious snow, and that wasn’t his custom at all, at first.

He was drenched by the time he reached the castle, with icy and stiff legs. Not that this was particularly painful, it just costed him to keep them warm, in blood and effort.

“Good evening, sir.”  
“Good evening my ass… Throw more wood in the fireplace, it’s fucking cold!”

He growled in a rotten mood. He was alone aside from the human. He had sounded out his surrondings with his aura and had breathed in the house Master’s scent, which was persistent but not as strong as it would have been had He been there.  
Only the usual smells of fire, wood and the castle’s own.

He settled near enough the fireplace to dry out his feet and legs, boots included, dropping them on the coffee table but not so near to catch a flying spark. Ending up flambèed wasn’t one of his nocturnal priorities.

“Alexander, my Alexander… Remove your paws from my Louis Sixteenth and apologize to mister O’Mannery. Afterwards, go outside and stay there until dawn. You may only come back in ten minutes before sunrise. I give you my best wishes on reaching the crypt in time. You might encounter some closed guichet, on your path.”

The Son Of A Whore had been, as always, as silent as a cat, one supernaturally skilled, noiseless and as vicious as a royal cobra playing with a tiny mouse. Alex hated always having to be the fucking luckeless rat! Fuck! Fucking Irish winter!


End file.
